Evolving
by RhyannD
Summary: Epilogue to Genesis.  NOW COMPLETE.  Beverly was put in Stasis because her injuries were so bad... this is what happened before she returned to duty. Apologies for the technical glitches.  Paramount's toys, my toybox.
1. Chapter 1

Sickbay. The muted sounds were familiar, and started to coalesce into meaning as she slowly began to surface.

Her head hurt. The skin on her face and neck felt as if she had been sunburned.

Her eyes seemed to refuse to open just yet, so she reached out with other senses. She felt a large hand holding hers. The impression of strength and comfort were familiar and welcome. The faint scent that barely overcame the antiseptic hospital smells, confirmed it was Jean-Luc

Why was he at her bedside?

Why was she here? The last thing she remembered was examining Worf…

She scrunched her brow in confusion, her hand tightening in his. She felt like she was awake, and yet she could not come up from the darkness…

"Beverly," his warm baritone was soft. She felt his other hand on her cheek. Only that touch kept her from panic when she grasped that she WAS awake, but she could not seem to open her eyes to see.

"Jean-Luc?" her voice trembled.

Jean-Luc acted as her terror began to rise. He raised his right hand to her face, cradling her cheek. He stroked his thumb on the line of her chin, and tightened his left hand on her right. "You have regen bandages on your eyes. You **will** be fine, according to Dr. Selar, but for right now you need to rest and let the patches work."

She lifted her hand to touch the bandages. Picard gently pulled her fingers away, keeping them within his own. His voice sounded fairly normal, he did not sound overly concerned.

"So… then why are you here?" Crusher asked, wincing when she realized how that sounded.

The Captain chuckled lightly, understanding the root of her question. If it were just a routine injury, why was he at her bedside?

"Data and your crew are very busy. Dr. Selar did not want you to wake up alone without being able to see. I told her I would come to sit with you. She called me a few minutes ago when it seemed you were nearing consciousness."

She had not let go of either of his hands. His right hand rested, tangled with her left, against her chest. Fatigue pulled at her. Her body ached and she was slightly chilled. She felt the warmth of his hand through the thin sickbay pajamas, If they moved just slightly, his hand would brush the swell of her breast…

She realized she had been drifting. Must be some good painkillers. She attempted to focus.

Jean-Luc watched her face. Her forehead scrunched, then relaxed. Her newly cloned skin was pink and red in blotches where the acidic venom had literally melted her own skin away. He had found her in the stasis tube on his initial search of sickbay. He had been in turn both horrified then terrified for her when he looked through the thick glass and saw her injuries. Her beautiful face had resembled raw ground meat, he could see to the bone on her left cheek. Above the surgical drape tucked just under her arms, her neck and upper chest were covered with patches of uncovered flesh. He could only deduce the damage to her eyes by the damage near them…

It was only later, as they pieced together what happened to the crew, that he be recognized similar injuries in others.

Looking at her now, he tried to wipe those images from his memory.

"What happened?" Her quiet voice held trepidation rather than her usual bravura.

"It seems your cure for Mr. Barclay took an unexpected turn. Data will be able to explain the details when you are back and cleared for duty. For now, suffice to say things got a little crazy around here, but are slowly regaining normalcy." His voice held just a hint of stress. She wished she could see his face to know just how serious things had gotten.

Pretty serious, from the sounds of Sickbay. "How long?"

"You were in stasis for just over three days. We had to see to the Sickbay crew first. You were the first surgical case they undertook."

"But what **happened?**" She asked again.

She heard steps approaching, guessing it was Selar. "Captain." The calm voice of the Vulcan confirmed her deduction. Reluctantly she let his hand on her chest go, but when he gently tried to pull away from the hand at her side, she clutched at him. He relaxed, staying with her.

She felt the air swish as Selar ran the tricorder over her. Heard the quiet beeps of the biobed controls as the Doctor paged through the screens to read the continuous monitors. She felt a cool hard pressure on her neck the second before the hypospray, then blessed relief from the dull ache in her head.

"You sustained organic chemical burns to your face, upper chest, neck and eyes. We were able to successfully clone and graft new skin for you. We did have to replace your corneas, which had been burned too badly to save. Your eyesight, however, should not be affected. The regen patches need to stay on for approximately 36 hours more," Selar delivered her prognosis clearly, without hint of sentiment. Crusher was grateful for it though, knowing that Selar was nothing if not impeccably truthful. If Dr. Selar said her eyesight would be unaffected, than it would be fine.

Now that her head had stopped hurting though, the thoughts of another 36 hours in a biobed in her own sickbay were enough to re-instill panic.

"Selar, is there any reason I cannot be in my quarters?" She asked, trying to sound commanding.

There was a pregnant pause. Beverly cursed the darkness, but could picture Selar's raised eyebrow at the request. "I cannot spare any staff to assist you in your quarters, Doctor. There is nothing else keeping you here, but it certainly is not logical that you should be released to quarters alone, being unable to see for the duration of the regeneration treatment."

Beverly felt tears burn in her covered eyes. Then the voice next to her spoke, his words deliberate. "Dr. Selar, my presence is not required on the bridge while the ship undergoes repairs from this incident. Would you release the Doctor to her quarters if I were available to assist her?"

Beverly was not entirely sure which way she wished Selar to answer. She certainly wanted out of sickbay, but she wasn't sure she was ready to have the Captain as her residential nursing aide for the duration.

"That would be an acceptable solution Captain." Beverly could swear she heard Selar continue to mutter under her breath, "and, I can use the extra biobed…"

"I will have someone bring you an antigrav chair." Selar started to walk away. 

"No." Beverly spoke up, sitting up on the bed. "That's OK. I can walk." Beverly could not see the look of doubt that crossed Selar's expression, nor the look that passed between the Captain and the Vulcan. But he, more than anyone, understood her need to appear still in control in front of her staff and patients. She felt Jean-Luc shift, to stand at her side.

"Very well, Doctor." Selar said. "You will contact me immediately if you have any issues."

"Of course, Selar. Thank you."

Beverly moved to get up, but Jean-Luc stopped her. "Wait just a moment, let me get a robe for you." She felt the flush of embarrassment rise. Not being able to see the state she was in, she had forgotten she was only in pajamas, and not very modest ones at that. While the material was soft and soothing, the clothing was made for the ease of the medical staff, not modestly of the patient.

Jean-Luc returned and helped her into a robe. She found herself acutely aware of every brush and touch of his hands… against her arms, her shoulder. He helped her to stand, his arm momentarily coming around her back until he was sure she was steady on her feet. She was grateful for that, the temporary blindness disorienting her when she first stood. Then he tucked her elbow into his arm, and pressed her against his side, hip to hip. Thus supported, she found it easy to follow alongside him. It was as if they were dancing, she just had to be aware of his body as he led.

By the time they took the turbolift and walked the corridor to her quarters, she was more than **aware** of his body. Her anxiety about the day and a half to come rivaled her anxiety about her current blindness.

They entered her quarters. "Where?" Jean-Luc inquired.

"Couch, please." Beverly replied. She pictured the room in her mind as he walked her to the couch and let her settle herself down. She laid her head back with a sigh.

"Hungry?"

She was, but she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to deal with the challenge of eating yet. She hummed a non-committal sound.

She heard him at the replicator, punching in something rather than just ordering it. A few minutes later, he approached, setting a lap tray on her thighs. The mouthwatering smell of her Nana's vegetable soup wafted up. "It's in a mug," he said, softly. "I thought that might be easier."

She felt her bandaged eyes mist at his thoughtfulness. "A buttered roll at 3 o'clock" he added, "and a serviette at 9 o'clock." She smiled. "Something to drink?"

She reached forward for the mug of soup, finding and securing it in both hands. "Not yet." She grinned, "Let's see if I can handle one mug of liquid first."

His instinct had been right on. She was able to sip the soup easily from the large, heavy mug, and found the soft, chewy crusted roll to be the perfect compliment. She smelled Earl Grey, and knew that Jean-Luc was drinking a cup of it as he sat nearby to her on the couch.

"Thank you." She said simply when she had finished the simple, yet deeply satisfying meal. She meant it for more than just the food.

She didn't want to think about any of the complications of their relationship. She was grateful for his presence. She was suddenly exhausted. She would accept his aid at face value—how many times had she done the same for him so he could recuperate in his own cabin? While it fell more into line with her job, she knew she did it out of friendship, respect and love, rather than duty.

She would do her best to be a gracious patient. That would take Herculean effort. She hated being helpless more than anything.

What she had not bargained for, was that the Captain understood her, and understood that feeling more profoundly perhaps than any other being on the ship. He had been helpless and dependent on the kindness and care of others too many times. He understood her need for control, and her fear of its loss.

"Tired?" He asked, rising and whisking the tray off her lap.

"Mmm." She agreed. But when she went to brush her hair back, she realized a shower was her first priority. She knew the regen patches would be fine, but debated how to ask for his help.

She underestimated him.

"Give me a minute." She could tell he went into her bedroom. She tried to remember the state she had left it in. She had a hard time finding the clothes recycler sometimes when she was tired, or in a hurry, or in a bad mood, or late…

He came back in, and without words, took her hand. She stood, and again, he tucked her arm into his and walked with her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I've set towels on the counter, and your robe is next to it. If you tell me where to find a suitable nightdress for you, I'll leave that on the bed for you." She felt the blush, even though her cheeks still felt sunburnt.

"Second drawer down." She said. He turned the shower on, and placed her hand on the door to the shower stall.

"Just leave the pajamas, I'll get them when you're done." He said, his voice soft and near as she felt the steam start to billow from the shower. "Call me when you are done and decent." She heard the smile in his voice. She wished in vain to see his eyes, she imagined they would sparkle with mischief at the situation. She heard the door to the bathroom woosh shut.

In the darkness that was her reality right now, she pictured him opening that second drawer, and what he would find… She kept her nightdresses on one side of the large drawer, and her lingerie on the other. Not the Starfleet issue, either.

For the first time since she woke up, she genuinely smiled.

She relaxed under the hot water, trying to visualize the stress washing down the drain. She had no trouble finding her shampoo or cream rinse—though she started with the wrong bottle and had to switch to get them in the right order. It was easy enough to set the shampoo down on the opposite side before reaching for the conditioner.

She finished her shower, feeling much better. Carefully she exited, taking tiny steps with her hands out until she reached the counter and the towels. Stark blindness was very rare, even the most profound cases were usually able to have implants or a VISOR like Geordi to process energy patterns or light variations… she could not imagine how people lived entire lives in this state in previous centuries. She knew her quarters intimately, could even picture the location of furniture and objects, yet it felt as foreign to her as any planet she'd ever been to.

Finally dry, she wrapped the robe around her. She debated calling for the Captain, but it was a mere meter or so from the door of the washroom to the foot of her bed. Certainly she could manage that?

The door opened, and she stepped into the cool air of the bedroom. Instinctively her arms lifted to reach for anything in her path. She walked forward a few paces, expecting to bump into the end of the bed, but did not. She froze, as fear of the unknown crowded her.

"Another three steps, straight ahead from where you are." His voice was soft, as not to startle her, coming from the direction of the bedroom doorway. She thought he would chastise her for not calling him. Instead, he was enabling her to get there on her own.

One, two… at the third step, her knee bumped the edge of the mattress. She bent at the waist and felt toward the left, knowing she should come to the corner of it. She did, then followed it around. She felt the covers folded back and knew she was at the head of the bed. Her fingers encountered silky fabric. She lifted the nightgown, trying to discern from it's length and trim which one it was. The three tiny buttons gave it away.

"The blue one!" She said with a triumphant little grin.

Jean-Luc stood in the doorway, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat as he watched her fingers explore the shiny, sleek blue fabric. He had chosen it because it matched her eyes. Only as she held it up in front of her did he realize it was low cut, with tiny thin straps. He started calculating warp speed into light years' distances in his mind…

"I'll, um… give you some… privacy to change." He'd had to clear his throat before speaking and in the middle of the sentence. The door slid closed and he pressed his forehead against it's cool surface, letting his breath out in a hiss.

He suspected she would be thirsty, since she did not have anything to drink with her meal, and replicated a glass of ginger ale for her. He knocked gently on the door to the bedroom.

"Come in." she called, and the door obediently opened.

She sat on the bed, face tilted toward the door. The unnatural angle of her head betrayed her blindness, as if she were trying to hear better. The blue gown was simple, and did not leave much to the imagination. She had her legs crossed, and the sheet pulled up around her hips. Her wet hair fell in wild disarray.

"I thought you might like a drink." His voice sounded strained to her. "Ginger ale." He added, as he brought her hand up to the cup.

"Thank you," she said. Then a breath later, "thank you Jean-Luc"

He felt colour rise to suffuse his face. He nodded, then realized she could not see the gesture. "It is, by far, the least I can do, Beverly." He waited for her to sip from the cup, then asked. "What else do you need?"

She smiled. She had an answer on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn't ready yet to be so bold. He saw the familiar devil in that smile, and knew her eyes would be sparkling with mischief, he wondered what she was thinking.

"On top of the bureau, _somewhere_, there is a purple comb. It has very wide teeth. Would you be so kind as to find it for me?" She needed to comb out her hair, and knew she had no hope of finding the comb herself. She heard him step over, then heard a few noises—things moving. In her mind she tried to picture… hairbrush, a handful of different clips and barrettes, probably a bangle bracelet or two… his footsteps returned.

But instead of handing the comb to her, he asked in a low, restrained tone, "May I?"

She felt her stomach clench. This was forbidden territory. She knew she had hurt him deeply after the debacle of KesPrytt. But he was being so kind, he had been patient and insightful. She could deny him nothing in this moment.

She scooted over on the large bed, and felt him settle behind her. In none of her fantasies had she ever pictured him combing her hair. She needed more imagination in her fantasies. His hands were incredibly gentle as he gathered her wet hair behind her shoulders and began to work through the tangles.

For his part, Jean-Luc was indulging one of his most potent fantasies. Her hair had always, always drawn him. He was moth to her flame. How many times had he clenched his hands into fists, fingernails digging into palms, to keep from touching her hair? And here he was. Her scent rose around him, permeating his senses. Her damp hair wafted the light, clean fragrance he always associated with her. It was surprisingly heavy when wet, not the light, silky strands he stole touches of.

With no sight to distract her, Beverly felt almost overloaded by her other senses. Heat from his body radiated at her back, though only his hands touched her. The smell that was so uniquely him wrapped around her. It was not heavy, not even identifiable as a cologne or aftershave like Will's scent, but rather it was clean soap and good leather and an elusive spice that teased her memory. His breath was steady, light. She heard him inhale deeply occasionally, as if smelling a flower or considering a wine.

The ship hummed beneath and around them, reassuring in the deep resonance of the engines. She raised the glass to her lips again and sipped the ginger ale, enjoying the slight bite of ginger and the effervescence. It was an old fashioned choice of a drink, but perfect for her recuperating status, settling both stomach and nerves.

And she felt… She felt his hands, felt the comb gently pulling. She relinquished herself to the sensations, tension melting away.

He kept at it for quite some time after the last of the tangles were gone, just drawing the comb through her hair, following it with his other hand, smoothing. Neither of them seemed to wish the moment to end.

"Well…" he had to clear his throat again. "there, then." He took the now empty glass from her and put it on the nightstand. He then returned his free hand, resting it against the side of her neck, and his thumb pressed small circles into the base of her skull where the stress still clung.

If she were a cat, she would purr. The hum in her throat as she acknowledged the bliss of his actions sounded almost feline. She bowed her head forward, giving him greater access, pushing slightly into the pressure so he would know she wanted more. He put the comb down and added his other hand.

Beverly cherished the weight of those hands, resting on her shoulders, while his thumbs did marvelous things to her neck. Desire curled, low in her belly, warmth spreading…

But even his magical hands could not overcome the fatigue. It came upon her swift and profound. She fought it, wanting his hands to remain on her. But the heat he created seemed to be thick and syrupy, and rather than arouse her, it spread among her limbs, reassuring as it wrapped around her.

Jean-Luc smiled. He would not have to restrain himself from seducing her. She was falling asleep on him. He wanted her more than he wanted air to breathe, but that was not why he was here, today. Today he was here to care for her, much as she had cared for him, over and over. She was doing remarkably well, but he knew she was tired, and had not demanded much of herself. Tomorrow would be a different matter.

He could feel her fighting her exhaustion. Toeing off his boots, he shifted more onto the bed. He brought her back, against his chest. She resisted for a moment. "Shh…" he murmured, relishing the feel of his lips against her ear. "Just relax. Let go. You're safe."

And she knew she was. She felt his strength envelop her, even while his hands still worked on her neck and shoulders. She registered that she was pulled back, against him. She turned her head to the side and let her cheek rest against his chest. He had taken off his jacket, and wore the soft woven uniform tank top. She felt him pull the covers up over her…

As she slipped into sleep, he let his hands drift down her arms. He wrapped his arm over hers, across her stomach, under her breasts. With the other hand, he pushed her now almost-dry hair off her face, then tucked it behind her shoulder. He should leave her, he supposed. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do; to retreat to the livingroom and rest lightly on the couch should she need him in the night.

But just at that moment, gazing down at the bandages where her eyelashes should be resting against her cheeks, seeing the pink skin grafts, he could not forget what he had found in the stasis tube. He had almost lost her.

He would not push her. He did not understand why she fought the attraction he knew was there. He could not fathom what she was afraid of. He would wait. As he had waited.

But tonight, tonight he would be selfish. He would catalogue every scent, every touch, every sound, and every sight. He would hold her against him and protect her from nightmares. He would take care of her tonight the way he wished to take care of her always.

He rested his cheek against her hair. Indulged in brushing his lips against her temple. Fought sleep, because he wanted to cherish every moment of holding her like this. But eventually lost the fight.

X x X x

He had not been asleep long. As was his habit, when he woke, it was completely, abruptly. His disorientation lasted only as long as it took to feel the weight in his arms.

That was what had awoken him. Beverly moved restlessly against him, agitated, yet not awake. He suspected she was reliving the venom attack. What made the whole incident worse was that it had been Worf, a fellow Bridge Officer, a friend, and the Head of Security whom she trusted implicitly with her safety.

So far she had not remembered anything past examining him. The Captain was no counselor, but he suspected she was remembering now.

She made low sounds of distress. He decided it was best to wake her, knowing the blindness would disorient and frighten her upon consciousness. "Beverly…" He could not resist brushing his lips against her temple. "Beverly, it's a dream, wake up." He raised his voice slightly, and tightened his grip on her just barely.

"No! Worf?" She came awake with a scream. At least he thought she was awake. The flesh coloured regen patches over her eyes hid her awareness from him. She had pulled out of his arms and sat straight up, her hands coming to her face. Worried she would pull at the bandages, he gently but firmly reached from behind her and clasped her hands.

"Beverly, it's OK. You're safe. We're in your quarters…" She tensed briefly at the containment of her hands, but then his voice soothed her. She relaxed her hands in his, then turned them, entwining fingers, pulling his arms with hers as she crossed them in front of her like a shield.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder, just trying to reassure her. He felt a shudder go through her, it was moments before she spoke, "Worf… I was examining him, and he had something wrong with his glands… his neck… " She let out a fluttery breath. "They were venom sacs."

His thumbs traced soft patterns on her opposite arms under his hands. Her next question should not have surprised him, but it did, just for a moment. "Is he OK?"

It was so like her to be concerned for everyone else, even when she was the injured party. "Mr. Worf is recovering fine, as are the rest of the crew. He was released from Sick Bay yesterday, but has another two days before returning to duty—well, one after this morning now," He corrected, guessing at Ship's time. "He had some other injuries in addition to the de-evolution state." He cringed inwardly at the memory of the electrical shock it had taken to stop the primordial Klingon.

The sigh she let out was more stable. "I guess Data has a LOT to explain to me." Her soft voice was tinged with humour. She longed to see Picard's face. She felt like it was the middle of the night. Her room would be in darkness anyway, the only light the faint shimmer of stars as they streaked past in warp rainbows.

Somehow it didn't surprise her to find herself held so securely in his arms. It had been pure, unadulterated instinct that had her pulling his embrace around her. How many nights had she longed for such security when nightmares awoke her, or insomnia kept her from sleep… And yet she had never been quite strong enough to move forward with him.

She knew it was irrational. Not saying it out loud didn't mean she didn't feel it. But somehow confessing her desire for him would make it real, and then, like all the others, he would be ripped from her life…

"How do you feel? Headache?" Jean-Luc's breath against her ear brought a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She thought for a minute before answering, "I'm fine, actually." Unconsciously she slightly tightened her grip on his arms crossed with hers around her.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" She could feel his baritone rumble against her back.

"MMmm… I don't know." Insomnia was a long time companion of hers. She often sought his company if she knew he was awake.

"Would it help if I left you be?" He said, softly.

"No." Her answer was swift and decisive, with a recognizable note of command.

They sat in comfortable silence, until she shook off the nightmare somewhat.

"Tell me what happened?" She inquired of him, "While I am not complaining, it must be extensive repairs that are needed to the ship for you to be able to take this time off the bridge… "

He let out a breath, which spoke volumes. "Well then, let's get more comfortable." He gently disentangled from her, and fluffed the pillows before settling back against them. Then he lightly coaxed her beside him, her head resting against his shoulder. He felt her smile as he pulled the covers over both of them.

"We found the rogue missile and successfully destroyed it, but when we came back into range of the Enterprise, the scans were highly unusual… "

He had barely finished describing finding Deanna in her tropical tub before she was asleep again. He smiled and closed his eyes, cherishing the precious moments of holding her in the darkness…

XxXxXxXx

The next time she awoke, it was gently. She came to awareness gradually. She was deliciously warm. She was on her side, the heat running the length of her body. She had been married for six years, she intuitively recognized the comfort of waking in someone's arms.

And oh, what arms they were. Her mind drifted lazily. The darkness did not scare her, she remembered the bandages covering her eyes, the reason why she was snuggled against the hardness and softness of her best friend, the man who would be her lover…

Her head rested on his shoulder and upper chest. She felt his arm under her neck, across her shoulders, wrapping around her, holding her to him even in sleep. She knew he would most likely wake with that arm asleep from her weight on it. Her right leg was bent, and crossed over his thigh possessively, he still wore his pants, she thought with a pang of disappointment. She continued taking stock while she felt his breath rise and fall in the rhythm of sleep. Her left hand was curled up between them, her right rested, palm and fingers relaxed, over his heart. She could hear his heartbeat, feel it under her cheek, She imagined she could distinguish the mechanical click and whoosh as the titanium valves and pump did their jobs.

She was loathe to move, to wake him. Her mind wafted from thought to thought. For some reason she came back to something she noticed last night, let it roll around, tested it…

When she had come out from the shower, she had expected him to scold her for trying to get to the bed on her own. Instead, he had supported her and let her work it out on her own—more, **enabled** her to get there on her own.

The greater symbolism in the situation coalesced for her. He was here, as she had always been there for him. He demanded nothing for himself, rather giving instinctively what she needed. Enabling her to get there on her own…

What was she so afraid of? She tried to recall her reasons for refusing him after KesPrytt… she **had** been afraid, but now, surrounded by his scent, his warmth, his very being, she realized her life would be shattered with his loss. Sex would not change that. Would neither diminish nor increase it, the loss would be devastating, regardless.

At the thought of losing him, her hand on his chest curled into a fist.

"You're awake then," he rumbled.

"Mmm." She was still loathe to relinquish her pillow, and needed time to reconcile with the paradigm shift her emotions had just made.

She always imagined him as an 'up and at 'em' morning person, excusing the slow mornings she had witnessed with recovery from injury or exhaustion… She had not suspected him of malingering. He took his time, though, leisurely facing the new day.

She smiled softly when he let out a sigh and lazily rubbed his hand on her arm. Again she wished she could see his face. Taking her courage by the horns, she reached up her right hand to explore his face.

She found stubble, a slight morning beard. She smiled as she rubbed against the texture of it. Her thumb found his lower lip, and discerned its lift in an upward curve. She continued the exploration, sliding up the side of his face, gently drawing her fingers across his brow, now smooth and unwrinkled with worry. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes told her he was smiling as he indulged her.

"One more day." He spoke softly, referring to the scheduled end to her loss of sight. Her hand returned to his lips of it's own accord. Against all his better judgment, he could not deny himself the indulgence of gently kissing her fingers. He let his lips part to lightly suck those fingers in to his mouth, his teeth and tongue just grazing them. Her swift intake of breath brought him abruptly back to reality.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" He stuttered slightly, raising his hand to draw hers away from his face.

"Don't be." Her reply was steady, certain.

Hopeful.

He surreptitiously disengaged himself from her, glad he had opted to leave his pants on—no matter how confining they were at the moment.

"Do you think you can manage the bathroom?" He knew she would want as much independence and privacy as possible. She nodded in reply. "Here's your robe. I'll just duck out to my quarters for a moment for fresh clothing, and I'll be back to set out breakfast."

She managed to follow the bed, and remembering the distance from the night before, found the bathroom without incident. Afterward, she slowly felt her way to the dresser. She felt through the big drawer containing her sweaters, identifying a big green one that fit her loosely. Leggings were easy—they were all black, so she knew they would match.

Leaving her feet bare, she felt her way to the livingroom. She ringed the edge of the room, coming to the replicator. "Pot of coffee, hot, black." She ordered. She reached both hands for it, smoothing along the counter until she encountered the pot. Lifting it by the handle, she steadied it with her other hand… which left her unable to feel ahead of her for obstacles. She thought she had another few feet to the table, when she banged into it, dropping the pot of hot coffee to bounce off the edge, just as the door to her quarters swished open.

"Beverly!" She heard the concern in his voice.

"I'm fine." She reassured him quickly. "I didn't get burned." She sighed. "I got a little cocky I think." She said with a rueful smile.

"Here." There was no censure in his voice as he steered her into her chair at the table. "I am not one to preach on the virtue of accepting help." She could picture a rueful half-smile on his face upon that disclosure, "but it's just another day. Just until tomorrow morning. Will you let me repay some of the kindness you have shown me?"

Once again she had underestimated him. By all rights he could have been cross with her, she had risked getting burned and it was only luck that the hot liquid did not splatter on her.

He crossed to the replicator and repeated her order, adding croissants, butter, cream and jam. He returned to the table, pouring a cup of coffee for her, adding cream. "Coffee at 3 o'clock" he said. He cut the croissant in half lengthwise, buttering both halves. "Jam?" he inquired.

"Yes, please," she said, subdued. She carefully reached for the coffee, holding the mug in both hands. She tasted. He'd paid attention: it was the perfect amount of cream.

He placed the plate in front of her. "Breakfast dead center, serviette at 9 o'clock."

He seated himself in his usual chair, across from her. He was slightly surprised to see her dressed, having expected her to remain in pajamas for the enforced day of rest. The sweater was one of his favorites, refusing to stay symmetrical, disobediently slipping off one shoulder or the other.

As he watched her carefully feel and pick up her breakfast, he became aware of just how much he relied on her eyes as a barometer of her emotions. In twenty years, he had become an expert in reading what was in her heart and mind, rather than what she professed from her mouth.

"Mmm." She smiled in appreciation. He had not skimped on the butter or the jam. She chewed, before continuing. "Have I mentioned Thank You, Jean-Luc?"

"Not necessary Doctor. This once, I am able to help you." His voice rang with depth of meaning, "It is my pleasure."

Something just beneath her breastbone clenched at his words, wondering at the deeper sentiment she heard.

What, exactly, had she been afraid of? She knew that her revelation upon waking needed action, before the fear returned, paralyzing her again. The only thing that could possibly hurt more than losing him, was to lose him without ever accepting the passion that was as strong between them as the comfortable friendship and enduring love.

He saw her smile, wishing again he could see her eyes, to have a clue as to what the small, secret grin was about. "Penny?" He intoned.

She nodded for a moment, before answering. "Not just yet. I'm still working on it." She replied, mysteriously.

The door chimed before they could go any further in the conversation. Beverly smiled at Jean-Luc's proprietary "Come."

"Good morning, Captain, Boss." Beverly's smile grew at her head Nurse, Alyssa Ogawa-Powell's voice.

"Alyssa!" Beverly's tone was delighted. "I don't suppose this is merely a social call?"

Alyssa smiled in return, glad to see her mentor and friend on the mend. "I brought along a portable regenerator. I'm to set you up for a nice relaxing 90 minutes."

Beverly's smile fell at the pronouncement.

"It could be worse, Doc," Alyssa intoned, responding to the poor patient attitude. "Selar could've made you come do this on a bio-bed."

"Alyssa, my dear, you are right, as always." Beverly conceded with grace.

"Where would you like to set up?" Alyssa asked.

Beverly would have preferred to avoid the bed, but for such a long session, it only made sense to be comfortable.

"Give me two minutes, Lieutenant." The Captain said and disappeared in the direction of the bedroom.

"How ARE you, Dr. Crusher?" Alyssa inquired, stepping forward and gently touching Beverly's hand.

"I am fine." Beverly's smile was genuine. She WAS fine. What could have been—what SHOULD have been a devastating injury and disability was instead turning into something quite the opposite.

"Do you need anything?" Alyssa asked.

"The Captain has been quite…" Beverly paused, a bit of mischief clear on her features, "insightful. So far, my needs are all being met quite… marvelously." Beverly ended on a chuckle that had Alyssa raising an eyebrow and wearing a decidedly satisfied smirk.

It was about time, the Nurse thought. Those two have been dancing around this since I've known them. No one is more perfect for each other. Well, except for Andrew and I, she thought, rubbing the bulge of her belly gently. The baby chose to kick at her at that moment—a new experience.

"Dr. Crusher—Beverly, here—feel!" Alyssa almost squealed, bringing the Doctor's hand to her pregnant mound. Right on cue, the baby kicked again. Beverly's smile was wide and unguarded.

"Oh, Alyssa…" She sighed, wistfully, but still grinning. She let her hand rest there.

Picard found the two in this pose, the Nurse standing next to the Doctor, both their hands resting on the round protrusion of Alyssa's baby. Beverly had a look of rapture. He suspected her eyes were misty. She loved delivering babies, said it was the payoff for calling time of death, but this baby in particular made her exceptionally joyful, as Alyssa had been a long time friend, ally and right hand, seeing the Doctor through so much…

The Captain himself felt a certain fondness for Alyssa. She was always so cognizant of his need for privacy, and yet, was willing to stand up to him as few others—knowing she had to face HER boss eventually.

"OK, ladies," He said, softly, not wishing to end the mystery of their shared moment of joy. "All set."

Alyssa helped Beverly rise and escorted her to the bed, now made, precisely, with military perfection. Beverly did not need to see to know that the corners would be tucked perfectly symmetrically and nary a wrinkle would dare show itself on the coverlet.

In just a few moments, Alyssa had Beverly settled comfortably, the blue light glowing on her face and upper chest. She departed, promising to stop by again towards evening to help with the second session that Dr. Selar requested for the new skin.

She shouldn't be tired, but Beverly felt herself drifting toward sleep when she discerned Jean-Luc's soft steps. He paused, a few feet from the bed.

She could not know how it twisted his heart to see her whole and healthy under the soft blue radiance of the regenerators; it reminded him of what he had seen in the stasis tube.

But here she was, safe and mostly sound. Just another day and her eyes would be uncovered and she would be back to normal.

He wasn't sure **he** wanted to be back to 'normal.' At least not the normal they had fallen into since KesPrytt. After this experience, after holding her though the night last night, he knew he wanted nothing more in this lifetime than to wake with her every morning.

He closed his eyes, swallowing down his desire and despair. He had promised himself he would not push her, most especially today.

"Beverly…" His voice was husky. "I'm going to step out for just another moment, can I get you anything?" 

Her voice was drowsy, unfocused, as she nodded. "No, thank you." He thought she was done speaking when she added, "you'll be back…"

He wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. He crossed the few steps which kept him apart from her bed. Unable to resist, he reached forward and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. "I'll be back."

She slipped into a light, easy sleep, her last thoughts of his feathered touch. She imagined he ended his sentence with "My love…" 

XxXxXx

She was amazed she had fallen deeply enough asleep to dream. Waking left her with wisps of memory, like fog burning away in the sunlight. She could not quite recall the elements of her dream, only that she was safe and loved, and… woke vaguely aroused. For a moment she thought of Rutia IV. Her helplessness when she had been abducted by the terrorists, her relief and fear when they also captured Jean-Luc… but somehow she knew the dream she had just had wasn't a nightmare, it wasn't reliving those terrifying moments as she had for months afterward…

Rather, she wanted to go back to this dream. It seemed as if she was very close to resolving… something. They had argued about orders, her following, him following through… it was just out of her grasp, but she felt like in her dream events had taken another course…

"You're awake then." His voice was nearby, lightly startling her.

"Yes." She stretched like a cat, luxuriating in the unexpected time off, no schedules to keep, no expectations to uphold… not realizing how tantalizing a picture she presented to her best 'friend.'

He cleared his throat. "If you would like, I got Dr. Selar's permission to take you on a small outing."

"An outing?" Her eyebrow rose, as she sat up, feeling her way to swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"Nothing too taxing, just a walk in the arboretum…" He paused, "Only if you feel up to it."

She had dreaded a long day stuck in her quarters. She once again realized how insightful his planning was. The arboretum was full of sounds and smells and textures… she could truly enjoy herself there without her sight.

She found her throat a bit tight when she went to answer him. "I think that would be lovely."

Under her instructions, he found a pair of simple black flat shoes in the astonishingly cluttered bottom of her closet. He was learning new facets to his CMO. He always thought of her as disciplined to a fault—working long into the night to come up with the answer to some virus or anomaly… it was a refreshing insight to see her bouts of untidiness.

The trip to the arboretum was an unqualified success. She never once doubted her safety when walking with the Captain. He unerringly warned her of changes of direction or tread. He had managed to get them admittance before the doors opened to the general crew and populace in the afternoon. He rarely invoked Captain's privileges, but today, he did.

They walked a meandering path, she guessing their location by the smells or sounds of birds or insects. She lost track of time, secure in the hold of his arm at her side, their bodies touching at hips, his voice dipping toward her ear now and again. Above the familiar and exotic smells of plants and flowers, the continuous light presence of **his** scent permeated her consciousness. She found her thumb absently caressing his hand where it held hers to direct her. She lost herself in the tone of his voice as he described something she had seen hundreds of times—it didn't matter that she could picture it, It became new as he spoke.

He was weaving a spell, she thought. He didn't even know it, but he was building a web around her from which she had no desire to escape.

She was pleasantly fatigued when he suggested it was time for a break. Rather than aim her to a bench, as she expected, he directed her to sit on the ground. She found herself on a soft blanket.

He grasped her hands, and placed in them a rectangular box.

"A picnic!" She practically squealed in delight. "Jean-Luc Picard, you've arranged a picnic!" Her face glowed with pleasure.

"I thought finger foods easiest to deal with, and, well, just thought a picnic might be in order to take your mind off your predicament." She could hear the smile in his voice. She knew he was pleased at her delight.

And she could not have been more delighted. "Captain, if I had known this was all it would take for you to take a day off for rest and a picnic… " She managed to charm him yet again with her self-deprecating observation.

She was right, he could not remember the last time he had taken a day off, not to mention the frivolity of a picnic in the arboretum. But it had become suddenly very important to him to ease her way through this crisis. He knew how he would feel, trapped in darkness, even if just for a day or two… and more than anything, he wanted to make it easier for her. Her pain hurt him far more than his own.

"Yes… well…" he found himself at a loss for words, watching the enchantment on her features. He only missed those blue eyes which spoke what her words sometimes could not…

"No manners expected today, nor any concession to nutrition." Humour laced his voice, once he'd found it. "Fried chicken and chips and pickles. Some fruit if you insist on healthy rations. Deanna assures me that the brownies for dessert are 'positively decadent.'" He placed a cool cylinder near her knee. "Iced Tea to drink, here."

He discovered the experience of watching her choose and eat her food incredibly erotic. She had to touch the items in the container to establish where each item was. Then her lips and often tongue, would explore tentatively before she would bite. He found himself at a loss for words, just watching her.

For her part, Beverly enjoyed the meal on a level she had not previously experienced. Worried not a whit about manners, she let her sense of touch tell her where and what the food was. The taste was somehow enhanced by the lack of visual stimulus. She could discern the spices in the coating of the fried chicken, she relished the texture of the potato chips and knew if she could see them, they would all be the dark brown russet that she favored, and would pick out of a batch of regular chips. The simple act of eating took on a life of it's own.

The silence between them was companionable. It might have been awkward, if she could have seen him watching her. But blissfully unaware, she continued her unconscious and innocent seduction.

Finishing the simple, yet savory meal with the decadent brownies, she leaned back on her elbows. "I think I might explode." Her smile was genuine.

Jean-Luc Picard had to use every weapon in his arsenal of self-control not to move next to her and take her in his arms.

She sat up, and reached blindly in his direction. Her aim sure, she landed a hand on his arm. "Jean-Luc, I don't know how I can thank you for this."

"As I have mentioned already, it IS my pleasure." He replied. She detected a certain tension in his voice, in the muscle under her hand, but without being able to see his eyes, his body language, she was unsure how to respond.

It was an easy silence that accompanied them back to her quarters. She found herself pleasantly worn-out. He deposited her on her couch, and she unerringly placed her feet on the low table in front of it.

A small, knowing smile graced her lips as she recounted the night before and the day. She would never, **ever** consider herself to be in the same state as someone permanently without sight, but for the brief time it was taken from her, she felt like she was truly SEEING things for the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

Jean-Luc put two cups of tea on the low table in front of the couch before  
>settling down next to her, then he passed her a cup. He sat close to her, touching<br>lightly at arms and hips. She could not help a smile. It was rare for them to cross  
>the invisible line between them.<p>

They sat quietly, comfortably. She noticed he had not _asked_ her if she wanted  
>tea, an unusual deviation from his impeccable manners. He had, rather, simply<br>called up her chammomile when he replicated his Earl Grey.

"How are repairs coming?" Beverly asked idly. She found herself remarkably  
>peaceful, and not nearly as anxious to get back to work as she would expected. She<br>sipped at her tea, grateful to have her hands occupied.

"Coming along fine." The Captain replied. "And as of Beta shift, we're back  
>above 80% regular crew staffing.<p>

"Who is on the bridge?" She cursed herself after voicing her thought-she didn't  
>want him to worry about that, she didn't want him to leave. "Will was back for<br>Alpha shift today, and Data will take over for Beta and Gamma shifts. Everyone  
>else is rotating through half-shifts as able, so it's a bit of a mishmash,<br>depending."

Beverly wondered how Selar was holding up and who was manning sickbay. The  
>Captain had distracted her easily from checking reports. She had enough<br>confidence in her excellent staff to know they could function indefinitely  
>without her leadership, what she felt badly about was them being short a body.<br>One set of hands or one more diagnostician could make a life and death  
>difference. Her sigh was wistful for the first time.<p>

Reading her perfectly, Jean-Luc draped his arm casually across the back of the  
>couch, a comforting soft caress of her hair. "You'll be back. I expect not on<br>Duty tomorrow, but you'll be able to check on them and catch up tomorrow."

She did not answer. She wasn't vain enough to think they _needed_ her presence,  
>but she hoped they at least missed her a bit.<p>

She felt his fingers idly sliding through her hair. She had never realized how  
>obsessed he was with it. That information was tucked away for future use. For<br>now, the comfort in the warmth and touch of his hand was evolving into something  
>more. A light tingle tickled down her spine. She was loathe to move, to speak,<br>lest it break the contact and the spell.

Reality, however, insisted on intruding, in the form of the door chime.  
>"That will be Nurse Powell again, I imagine." The Captain said, standing.<br>"Come." Again Beverly smiled at his proprietary manner in *her* quarters.

"Hi Captain, Boss." The cheerful nurse greeted them. "Just a half-hour this  
>afternoon, Doc." Beverly could hear the smile in her voice.<p>

"How are things in my sickbay?" Beverly asked.

"Good!" She could hear Alyssa gathering the regenerator units. The couch would  
>be fine for the short session. "Almost everyone is discharged from Barclay<br>Bedlam Syndrome, and staff is almost back to full capacity." The Captain  
>chuckled at Alyssa's name for the de-evolution virus.<p>

Beverly groaned then laughed. "Barclay IS Bedlam!"

"Doctor," the Captain asked, "May I use your computer."

"Of course." She said simply, a little taken aback that he felt he had to ask.

Alyssa had just started the regen units, and Beverly sat in the gentle hum when  
>the Yellow Alert sounded. The soft dual chimes accompanied the yellow lights<br>that flashed along the top of the wall, where it met the ceiling. Beverly found  
>herself picturing each corridor and compartment with the slowly pulsing yellow<br>lights.

"Picard to Bridge, status?" He hadn't even logged all the way in from her  
>computer.<p>

"Just procedure, Sir." Will's voice was calm in reply. "An ionic energy storm  
>is gathering. Engineering believes we should have full impulse in just a few<br>minutes and be able to move out of the area."

The Captain paused a moment. "Keep me posted, Number One."

"Aye, Sir." The reply was easy, unruffled. A small chirp indicated the  
>communications channel closed.<p>

"Jean-Luc.' Beverly's voice held a smile, but also that tone which he knew was  
>her most persuasive. "Go. See for yourself. Alyssa's here and I'll be fine if<br>you're not back by the time she leaves."

Silence met her words. If she could have seen, she would have melted at the  
>expressions openly crossing his features. Concern for her warred with concern for<br>his ship, but there was also longing and tenderness. She knew him so well that  
>she would offer, before he even had to struggle with himself to ask.<p>

"_Jean-Luc._" Beverly repeated when he did not reply.

He looked to Alyssa, but she just smiled. "I think she really will be fine,  
>Sir." She said, treading the fine line between her Boss and her Captain.<p>

"All right." He muttered. He then shocked everyone, including himself, when he  
>strode over to her, lifted her hand, and pressed a kiss. He covered it with his<br>other hand. "I shall be back shortly. You WILL call if you need anything." It  
>was clearly not a question. With a quick tightening of his hands around hers,<br>he then released her and left her quarters.

"Oh... wow." Alyssa said softly, her eyes huge, staring at the door the Captain  
>had just exited.<p>

"Yeah." the Doctor agreed.

A few moments of easy silence, then the nurse just repeated, "Wow."

And the Doctor replied, "yeah."

Then as if cued, they both giggled. "If you tell a SOUL Alyssa Ogawa, I will  
>hunt you down and kill you and THEN assign you to bedpans for the rest of your<br>tour." Beverly was lightly tracing her fingers against the back of her other  
>hand, where his lips had been.<p>

"It's Powell now. Well, Ogawa-Powell." Beverly could hear the smirk in  
>Alyssa's voice as she sat on the chair opposite the couch. "And I would never,<br>ever utter a syllable that might jeopardize you two finally finding each other."  
>The words were said with simple sincerity.<p>

"What do you mean, 'finally.'" Beverly asked, softly.

"You're the only two in the Universe that don't see how perfect you are for each  
>other and how much you belong together... " Alyssa broke off, afraid she had<br>said too much.

"He's just... we're... " Beverly shook her head with a frustrated sigh. "It's  
>complicated."<p>

Alyssa saw the sadness and longing and need on her Boss' face. "Don't worry  
>Boss," she said quietly, seriously, "Not a word from me."<p>

"I know Lyss." Beverly smiled, a bright, genuine smile. "How did I ever got so  
>lucky to have such a fabulous head nurse?"<p>

A sudden jolt to the ship cut off their laughs.


	3. Chapter 3

The Captain's empty teacup slid off the coffee table, and the Doctor's tea sloshed in her hands. Beverly chafed at being blind and helpless, ion storms could cripple and even destroy a ship.

Another jolt had them reaching to hang on to furniture.

Alyssa stayed with the Doctor, trying to keep her distracted. They chatted, catching Beverly up on Sickbay. The dual tone chimes sounded softly again, as they would every ten minutes until Ship's status changed. Normally Beverly would have the computer mute the chimes, she relied on them now.

The ship was bucking now, unpredictable bumps and what felt like 'drops'. Of course, there was no up or down in space, but the ion storm could interfere with the ship on almost every level, and the gyroscope effect gravity that made the floor 'down' and the ceiling 'up' for the crew was being interrupted occasionally while the energy from the ion storm tossed them like a toy.

Beverly was just about to tell Alyssa to return to her post, when the suggestion was taken away with her; The klaxon sounded Red Alert. "Go, Alyssa." the Doctor said. "I'm fine."

"But..." Alyssa sounded uncertain.

"Under the circumstances, I believe I can make it an order... I'm not on shift, but I have not been relieved of duty entirely..."

"Yes, Sir." Alyssa said, but her hand strayed to Beverly's arm. "You'll be OK?"

"Of course," Beverly said softly, her smile taking the sting out of the demand. "It's not my first time around... "

"OK." Alyssa sounded reluctant still. "You're more than halfway done. Call us if you need anything."

"I will. Now get."

Alyssa exited and as soon as the doors whooshed closed, Beverly did what she'd been longing to do for the past fifteen minutes. "Computer, Bridge Audio. Clearance: Crusher two-two-Beta-Charlie."

The Red Alert klaxon was replaced with familiar voices. None were raised, there was no chaos, but within the first few seconds the Doctor knew the level of tension and controlled anxiety of the Command crew.

"Sensors indicating the storm has reached Level 6 and rising," the calm voice of Data reported. "However, sensors are intermittently failing completely."

"All external communications are blocked." Came Worf's voice, contained calm, "Shields at seventy four percent and dropping."

Geordi's voice came next, frustration rising, "Internal dampeners are inconsistent. We're gonna lose the gravity field generator if we can't get out of this."

"Auxiliary power to shields Mr. Worf. Number One, all non-essential personnel to report to the saucer section so we can divert power if needed. Mr. Diaz, maintain heading at full impulse." The Captain's voice was calm, sure, even as the great Starship shuddered again.

Low, inaudible murmurs indicated everyone focused on the job at hand.

"Level Seven-Sir, sensors are offline." Data said without emotion.

"Automatic helm control offline." Diaz' voice held a hint of panic.

"Hold her steady, Mr. Diaz." Picard tried to extend confidence to the young officer at Navigation.

Then the audio cut out. "Crusher to Sickbay..."

Nothing.

"Crusher to Bridge." Nothing.

Beverly heard the hum of the regen unit turn off. Quickly she rose off the couch. She might not be able to see, but she could feel, and speak and supervise... and she knew that injuries would be filling sickbay quickly with all the bumps and jolts the ship was taking. As to what would happen if the storm continued to intensify, and they could not get out of it...

The intense, erratic magnetic forces in an ion storm could just as easily crush a ship as pull it apart at the seams. Even minor storms would short out electronics and blind sensors. Communications became impossible.

Preparing for the worst was one thing, but dwelling on it entirely another. Full of confidence in her crewmates, and commitment to them, she traced her way out the door and into the corridor.

All corridors on the Enterprise had handrails, it was a fairly simple to make her way. She had done the trip virtually in her sleep and knew it by heart. She had a bad moment when the lift stuttered. She didn't think she was up to a Jeffries tube climb-even with her sight, heights were her least favorite thing-but thankfully it started up and made it to deck Five. She stepped out of the lift and grabbed on to the railing.

Suddenly the floor seemed to drop out from underneath her and her world spun on it's axis. She hung onto the side rail with both hands. A deep groaning sound rose from the bowels of the ship, vibrating through the hull. Ominously, the Red Alert klaxon ended, the silence deafening.

Blind and disoriented, all Beverly could do was hold on.

=^=  
>Back on the bridge, status reports were being fired like machine gun bullets.<p>

"Shields down to 43 percent. Computer not responding..." Worf's normally stoic voice was quiet.

"Hull breach... " Data paused, uncharacteristically, coaxing the computer in front of him almost too fast for the human eye to see. "Decks seven, eight and nine have experienced depressurization... " another pause as Data tried to milk all the information he could out of the barely functioning computer. "It appears the emergency force field came on, but I am unable to ascertain how completely or how long it will hold."

Jean-Luc Picard's mechanical heart impossibly missed a beat. _Beverly's__quarters._ The panic, the pain was too deep, to acknowledge it would be incapacitating. Ruthlessly he pushed it deep down inside of him, focusing on saving his ship.


	4. Chapter 4

"Captain, we were not back to full power yet before hitting this storm, we can't keep throwing power at the shields and the engines, it's a finite resource right now." The Chief Engineer was employing every trick and short cut he had ever learned to try to keep the storm from tearing apart his beloved Enterprise.

A huge burst of energy emerged out of the storm, like a giant bubble of fire. "Evasive manuver Kirk Delta One!" The Captain roared.

Lieutenant Junior-Grade Diaz was recalling every ancient Earth prayer his very religious Grandmother had ever tried to teach him. With no computer, it took both of his hands on the emergency manual controls to try to pull the ship up and away from the encroaching ball of light. Suddenly the First Officer was next to him, throwing all his considerable height and weight onto the second position helm.

They did not avoid the threat altogether, but were able to take it at an angle, deflecting some of the impact energy. Still, the electromagnetic turbulence could be seen rippling through the ship in a flash, an eerie bright green glow dancing across anything metal. Data's entire being was lit up for an ethereal moment.

Gravity on the ship wavered with the energy pulse. For a moment there was no up, or down-and then there was again, with crashing and clattering. Anything and anyone not secured found themselves on the floor, not necessarily anywhere near where they started.

Will had been pulling all his weight against the console handles-with the fizzle of green he'd let go in surprise, and then his momentum sent him hard against the hull when the gravity failed. When the floor became 'down' again, he found it-with head and elbow, hip and knee.

The Captain had instinctively stood and stepped to assist his First Officer at the flash of energy, when gravity returned, he came down awkwardly, in a heap, against the console arm of his chair. He heard a sickening snap in his arm. He did not feel the pain from it yet, his adrenaline was too strong. Nor did he feel the cut to his temple where he had caught the corner of the console arm with his head.

"Status." He snapped out, annoyed with himself for getting hurt. He turned to see Will roll onto his back. "Number One?"

"I don't bounce as well as I used to, but I think I'm still in one piece." Will replied with a groan.

A glance around the bridge showed no one else had been out of their seat except Worf. He had apparently sufficiently stablised himself at his console, as he was now standing behind it as if nothing had happened.

The Captain cradled his left arm protectively to his side. The ship rocked again.

"We're loosing it, Sir." Came Geordi's worried report. We don't have enough power to maintain the force-field over the hull breach _and_ keep shields up... "

_Beverly!_ Relentlessly Jean-Luc willed the thought away. If he didn't save the ship, they were ALL dead. If she was not already gone... Oh, God, why did she fight against what she knew in her heart? It was like fighting against a rip tide, if she would only give in and let herself go...

The ship rolled hard to port, the gyroscope not quite keeping up with the tumultuous energy of the storm. They all held on. The Captain closed his eyes briefly, he was missing something... something...

Like a rip tide.

"Helm, all stop-but no dampers. Commander LaForge, shut down all unnecessary power-every bit of it."

The Chief Engineer looked up at the command, shock clear in his features-then grinned. "Aye, Sir!"

As the hum of the engines changed and quieted, the overhead lighting on the bridge dimmed to emergency lights only. The graceful bird took one more huge jolt, throwing those on their feet to the floor. The Captain had wisely taken his seat, but cradled his left arm protectively. It was starting to ache abominably.

After that, though, the sharp tossing about seemed to calm. On the viewscreen, the stars dimly visible beyond the myriad colours and flashes of the ion storm continued to flow past them, the ship's previous momentum kept her gently soaring forward.

But with no opposing energy, she rode the storm, like a surfer rides a wave.

"Computer partially back online, Sir." Reported Data.

"Shields holding at fifty percent." Worf stated.

"Force-field holding on the hull breach." Will said, softly, having regained his position.

"Do they have life support?" the Captain asked, dreading the answer. He felt something warm trickling down the side of his face, he agitatedly wiped at it, finding his hand came away with blood.

"It's not ideal, but there are sufficient levels of oxygen and the temperature is holding just above freezing." The First Officer knew where the Captain's thoughts were. He hoped against hope that the Chief Medical Officer had survived the breach. Until computers and sensors were fully functional, they had no idea the extent of the damage, or which compartment doors had held against the deadly vacuum of space.

"Communications?" The Captain's voice was low, the only outward sign of his level of worry.

"Not yet sir." Worf answered. The Klingon felt the weight of guilt, the Doctor would not have been in her quarters if not for him. It was not entirely rational, he knew he had no control over the circumstances, yet he still felt tremendously responsible for those he had injured. The Doctor was one of the most honorable humans he knew. She fought well and hard when needed.

"As soon as you are able, dispatch a security detail to the breached sections to ascertain the damage and casualties." The Captain's voice was devoid of emotion.

The Klingon nodded. "Aye, Sir." He would lead a detail himself.

The ship continued to drift, lightly rocking and lifting and dipping, but with no further large disturbances. Time stretched inordinately as they waited to clear the storm. The brilliant colours and swirls of energy would be captivating under any other circumstances.

The ion storm finally dissipated, just as quickly as it had formed. One second it was there, the next they were surrounded by distant stars and the black void of space. A look around the bridge showed bruised and battered crew, and smoldering consoles.

"It appears we are clear the ion field." Data supplied, unnecessarily.

"Thank you, Mr. Data." The Captain replied wearily. "Mr. LaForge, when you have assessed, please give me an ETA to sufficient power to get us to the nearest Starbase for full repairs. Mr. Worf, shields first, then communications-both onboard and external, please. Number One... "

The Captain paused, looked Will over critically. "Do you need Sickbay?"

"No, Sir." Will answered. "But you do." He pointed to the Captain's obviously broken arm, hanging at an awkward angle.

Jean-Luc sighed. He knew there would be no arguing the point with his First Officer now that the immediate danger was past. Grief threatened to incapacitate him when he thought of Sickbay without Beverly. Before he could speak, Will spoke again, "We'll find her sir, I will let you know the moment we do."

With a nod, not meeting Will's eyes, the Captain conceded. "See to the hull breach. I want a full report on extent of damage and casualties, and an update on the emergency force field... " He looked around the bridge, but his gaze was miles away. "I'll be in Sickbay."


	5. Chapter 5

Gravity returned to Deck 5 where the Chief Medical Officer hung on to the siderail. Her mind registered the fact that it came back somewhat slowly-at least compared to a failure of the gyroscope gravity generator. Combined with the deep groaning, Beverly knew there had been a hull breach, not too far from her location either. She came back to 'upright' on her knees, arms wrapped around the railing. Finding her feet, she continued toward sickbay.

The entrance to Sickbay was rarely closed, with the exception of during contagion or when all compartments automatically locked during a hull breach. It was closed now, locked. The breach had to be within two decks or two compartments. A shiver found its way down the Doctor's spine. The compartment locks would not release until ship's computers were able to determine there was no further risk of decompression, or until a manual override by the Captain, Chief Engineer or Security Chief.

She tried her communicator again. A single chirp told her internal communications were still down.

She had gotten off the lift just in time, it too would be locked out. Her dark world had narrowed to the hallway outside Sickbay; At least for the short term. She tucked herself into the corner by the door-within sensor range, so it would open as soon as it was released-and sat to wait.

The ship bucked a few more times, hard. There was another instance of free-float, but this time it was clearly the grav system. Beverly pressed her arms and legs against the walls of the corner, holding herself in place. When gravity returned, she sat back down hard on the floor.

She worried for the bridge crew... worried for the families. She worried for the Captain.

_Jean-Luc._She worried about the man. The man who had loved her for twenty years...

She felt and heard the ship's engines change, from what she could tell, they dropped out of impulse power. The hard vibrations and hits quelled. With the heavy compartment doors sealed, there was nothing but the low hum of the ship around her. She might have been the only survivor on board.

She knew better, of course, and recognized her mind playing tricks with her. Time was an enemy though, with no way to gauge its passing. Periodically she queried the computer, checked her communicator. Each time she was met with silence. Her internal clock told her it was some time in ship's night, but how late, she could not even begin to guess.

To keep herself sane, she went through the disaster checklist. Each compartment in the starship had an emergency medical kit, and all crew members were trained in basic first aid. For every area of the ship, there was at least one trained emergency medic, who knew how to use every tool and medicine in the kit. Any support, non-crew personnel in a position of management or supervision was at least trained to Intermediate care, and could stabilize a patient until such time as a medic or the medical staff could take over.

Half of the crew had just gone through recertification with Selar just the end of the last quarter. She smiled remembering that Dr. Selar had the pleasure of having Mr. Barclay in _her_ class this time. His inordinate "but what if" questions were actually humorous-provided you were NOT the class instructor.

She continued her mental inventory; It was mid-afternoon when the yellow alert sounded, most children would have been home from classes already. Will had begun evacuating everyone to the saucer section before communications were cut. The saucer had more compartments, decreasing the severity of any single hull breach. More compartments meant more med kits too.

The engines remained much quieter than usual, she surmised they were drifting. The bumps and dips were gentle, almost rocking motions. Eventually, she bowed her head. Her knees were bent, her crossed arms resting on her knees, and she let her forehead drop to her arms. Her thoughts drifted back to the Captain. She had finally come to terms with her fear, and yet it seemed it might be proven valid. She could not lose him now... _not__now..._

Once again, with the clarity of simplicity, she acknowledged that if something happened to him tonight, she would not hurt less. She would, in fact, have regret and guilt to carry along with the loss. She resolved to remedy the situation when she saw him again.

**When,** not if. No force of Nature was going to thwart a Howard. Not once her mind was finally in synch with her heart. She could not wait to see him. Her temporary blindness had shown her how much she loved his hazel eyes, so expressive even when he wore his "Captain's mask." How much she loved the way they crinkled when he smiled... How much she loved him.

In the middle of an ion storm, trapped in an isolated corridor of a drifting starship, the Doctor was rocked to sleep with a gentle smile on her face.


	6. Chapter 6

Entering the manual override code, the Captain paused for a moment before selecting his destination... his heart wanted him to go to deck eight. But he knew if she was gone, he could not change anything, and if she were injured, he was in no position to help until his arm was fixed.

With a heavy sigh he programmed the panel for deck five.

Arriving at his destination, he had to again enter his security code to override the safety feature of secured compartments. This level would be fine, as it was seven, eight and nine which had depressurized. But in order to maintain life support integrity, the system automatically locked all pressure doors within two decks and two lateral compartments of a breach or depressurization.

The corridor was dark, the ship was still running on minimal power. Sparse emergency lights exposed the floor and not much else.

Worf would have a crew already heading to the compromised area to determine just how bad the breach was. It would not be long, but it seemed interminable when one was used to the instantaneous results from the computers and sensors. The Captain felt as if he had been blinded, not knowing where or how badly his ship had been damaged.

That thought, of course, brought him back to Beverly. To be blinded during a depressurization...

Coming up on the closed door to Sickbay brought him out of his dark thoughts. His imagination was playing tricks with him, he thought he saw a glint of familiar copper.

Drawing nearer, he kept expecting the shape to disappear, or to take on some more rational meaning than what his mind had leapt to. But it didn't. Rather, as he approached, the dim light revealed the teal sweater she had been wearing...

His heart sped up, pounding hard, feeling as if it were pushing up his throat. Finally he was able to discern that she was, in fact, sitting on the floor, arms folded on her knees, her glorious hair cascading over her face.

She was here.

She was HERE.

Breath escaped with a whoosh. It took him two tries to find his voice. "Beverly?"

Cradling his injured arm, he knelt on one knee next to her, his good hand lightly drawing her hair away from her face. She appeared to be fine. He could not resist caressing her cheekbone with his fingers. A small movement of her head into his touch and a smile came to his face. "Beverly." He said softly.

She snapped awake, one hand catching his wrist. "Jean-Luc!"

"Are you all right?" He left his hand, resting on her face, captured by hers.

"I'm fine. Are you?" Her other hand reached up for his face, somehow instinctively seeking out the cut and bruise on his temple. She felt the swelling and dried blood, felt his face wince under her light touch.

"Where else?" Her right hand was roaming down his neck, across his collar bone. He noticed with amusement her left hand had not left his wrist, was anchoring his own right hand to her face.

Before she could 'diagnose' his broken left arm, he gently disentangled himself. Using her shoulder as leverage, he lightly pushed up, then reached down for her hand to help her to stand.

Both on their feet, he could not deny himself from pulling her to him. Carefully, he drew her, wrapping his good arm around her, letting his face fall into her hair. He needed to feel her warmth, her heartbeat.

For her part, Beverly could not get enough of touching him, feeling him next to her. She wanted to SEE him, to know for sure that he was OK. For now, she matched the urgency in his embrace.

Until she noticed he was only using one hand and arm. Fate granted them another chance, they could continue this... "Jean-Luc, what is wrong with your left arm?" Lightly she began to trace it's outline.

"I'm afraid it's broken." He said, reluctant to let her go.

"Well, let's get it fixed. Get us in to Sickbay." It sounded a bit like an order. "Please." She added, quietly, making him smile again.

He did not quite release her, maintaining a guiding hold on her elbow as they entered her domain. It was mostly quiet, since the compartment locks had kept any new patients from coming in until now.

"Captain," Selar greeted him, "Dr. Crusher." Calm as always, from the sound of the Vulcan's voice, it might be just an average day aboard ship. "Captain, please be seated. We are still on limited power, I will have to treat you here."

"That is fine, Dr. Selar." The Captain said, sitting sideways on the biobed she indicated. Beverly stood, next to him, her hand innocently resting on his thigh. Despite _everything_ he felt as if her palm and fingers were burning through his uniform trousers.

Alyssa approached, bringing a chair with her. "Dr. Crusher! I was so worried, when I heard deck eight depressurized..." Beverly tightened her hand slightly on the Captain's thigh. He rested his good hand on top of hers with a reassuring pressure.

"Here, I brought you a chair." Alyssa positioned the chair on the Captain's good side, and guided the Doctor to the seat.

"Thank you, Alyssa." She was amazed when the Captain took her left hand in his right and held on to it. Even when Selar returned.

"No concussion." The Vulcan said, for the benefit of the CMO more than the patient. "Just bruising and a small cut. We will fix that, but first I would like to set and mend the arm."

Beverly heard the hiss of the hypospray and could picture Jean-Luc's wince. His hand tightened around hers when the break was set. He wouldn't feel pain, but the pressure was disconcerting. She heard the familiar hum of the bone mender for a few moments, then the hum of a portable regenerator. The sounds were reassuring in their routine.

An ensign came into sickbay, clearly looking for the Captain.

"Sir, I have a preliminary update from Lt. Worf."

"Report." The Captain urged.

"Security teams have been able to clear all depressurized areas. Casualties are limited and no fatalities. Affected areas were limited to the gamma, delta and epsilon compartments, decks seven, eight and nine."

The Captain's hand tightened on hers again, she would have been within a depressurized compartment had she stayed in her quarters.

The ensign continued. "It appears the breach is a hull seam that was pulled apart by the magnetic storm. The force field is stable at this time, and we may actually be able to repair it ourselves, outside of space dock, but that is not confirmed yet."

"Excellent, Ensign Williams. In light of our communications issues, would you please tell Mr. Worf to carry on, and they relay a message to Commander Data that he has the bridge until... " The Captain broke off, seeking a chronometer. "Until Beta shift. I will check in with him when I am cleared here. Please tell Commander Riker he is relieved until Beta shift."

The ensign's eyes bugged out a little, he was relaying a lot of orders. But he was young and fresh out of the Academy-he mentally clicked down the list of duties, confirmed he had them, and with a crisp, instinctive salute, turned precisely and exited. The Captain chuckled.

Dr. Selar efficiently healed the cut and bruising to the Captain's temple. "That will be sore for a while." She said. "The regenerator will be finished in 14 minutes."

Jean-Luc rubbed his thumb against the lower curve of Beverly's. "You're very quiet," he observed.

"Just taking it all in, I guess." She replied. "How did you break your arm?"

"I'm an old man, and gravity can be a harsh mistress." He accomplished his task, making Beverly smile.

"Weren't sitting in your Captain's Chair, were you... " She knew he rarely sat when faced with split-second decision making, it was too hard for him to keep still.

He nodded, remembered she could not see, "No." he answered.

"What time is it?" She inquired.

"Nearly 0600," he told her. She brightened measurably. He stifled a yawn.

He filled her in on what had happened on the bridge until Selar returned to remove the portable regenerator. "That too will be sore for a few days, Captain. No sports, no heavy lifting for three days. One more regen treatment would be ideal."

"Thank you, Dr. Selar." The Captain said.

"Doctor Crusher, would you like me to remove your regen patches while you are here?" The Vulcan inquired.

"Yes!" Beverly answered quickly. "Please!" Butterflies suddenly tickled her stomach, what if something went wrong, what if she couldn't see?

"You can just switch places with the Captain then. This will be brief." Selar left again.

She didn't want to let go of him. She had to, as he assisted her to sit on the biobed, just as he had been. Nervously, she reached out, and found him there, waiting for her. He captured her hand in his.

"It will be fine, Doctor." He comforted her quietly, confidently. "Do you want me to go?"

"No." She replied quickly, emphatically. Then quietly, shyly, "Please, stay?"

"Of course." he said. He knew ship's status, and was with the object of his worry, there was no need to rush off to do anything. Reports could wait, she could not.

Selar returned. "Keep your eyes closed, please." She instructed her patient. Beverly's hand tightened nervously on the Captain's. Gently Selar pulled away the regeneration patches. The air felt cold against her eyelids. Selar wiped a warm, moist cloth on her eyes.

"Open your eyes." Selar instructed. Not even realising she was holding her breath, the Doctor did as she was told. The light seemed bright at first-despite it being lowered to emergency level-and everything was blurry.

Oh, God. Everything was blurry. Just a mass of fuzzy colours and lights.

"Tilt," Selar instructed, a hand under her chin. She obliged, and looked up at the ceiling as Selar adroitly placed several drops in each eye. They briefly stung, but then the cooling sensation overcame the discomfort. Selar let go of her chin, she looked straight ahead again, blinking rapidly...

And saw him clearly. Saw beloved hazel eyes, saw worry and hope warring on his features. Much as she had in the morning, she brought her other hand up to trace his face, his lips, cheek, the furrows now deep in his brow. But this time she followed her fingers with her eyes, greedily taking in the details.

Even the ever stoic Vulcan sensed the deep current of emotion passing between the two. A small, pleased smile lifted the corners of her lips as one eyebrow raised.

Jean-Luc gazed into her blue, blue eyes. He had not allowed himself to acknowledge any doubts, any hint of failure; but now he admitted he had been terrified of not seeing her blue eyes flash with emotion ever again. The oceans of her soul, he thought.

Hearing Dr. Selar clear her throat, Beverly tore herself away from Jean-Luc's gaze. Selar proceeded to check her eyes with the opthalmascope. The bright light made her wince.

"Very good." Selar said. "Rest them as much as possible today, and I will check you again tomorrow and expect to clear you for duty."

"Thank you Selar." Beverly said, her voice rough with emotion. The Captain squeezed the hand he still held on to.

Dr. Hill came into sickbay, followed immediately by two bruised and battered looking crewmembers. Worf and Geordi must have cleared the compartment locks that were unnecessary.

The Captain and the Doctor left sickbay. He knew she could not return to her quarters, they were within the compartment with the breach. "Come to my quarters," he said, ready to argue as to why.

"Yes." She nodded, leaving him momentarily speechless.


	7. Chapter 7

The two tired Officers left sickbay and headed to the bridge. The seasoned observer of the two might notice they walked closely, or that the Captain briefly put a hand on the CMO's lower back as he ushered her into the lift.

The silence was comfortable, each lost in their own thoughts for the moment. The Captain stood slightly taller, squaring his shoulders just before the lift doors opened to the bridge.

Beverly looked around, almost every console and station was opened up, showing wires and computer componets. The smell of burnt electronics was strong, and she expected to see lingering smoke.

"Sir," Data acknowledged the Captain. "All decks are reported in, a total of forty-eight casualties, twelve of which require Sickbay. Computers and communication throughout the ship have experienced system-wide failures. Chief LaForge has been able to get full impulse power from the engines, but the warp drive is offline. The warp coils are in no current danger. The force-field is holding one hundred percent on the breached seam. "

"Very good, Commander. You have the bridge until Beta shift." The Captain swept his gaze over the work being done on his bridge, satisfied with the progress.

"It is good to see you well, Doctor." Data said, solicitously.

Beverly smiled at his unintentional pun. "Thank you, Data."

The Captain returned to her side, gesturing her ahead of him into the turbolift. Once the doors closed, he let out a sigh which characterized his fatigue. The Doctor instinctively raised her hand to gently rub his arm, only after making contact realizing she was crossing a line... she did not remove her hand.

"Have you eaten?" She asked quietly, as they departed the lift and headed toward his quarters.

"No." he nodded. Stepping into his quarters, he surveyed the damage. Only a few items were scattered about, most of his shelves were recessed with retaining edges, much the same as ships had been in the ancient ocean going fleet. The books were safe, the clutter minimum. He picked up quickly.

"Go." The Doctor told him, just shy of her Command tone. "Take a shower. I'll get us some dinner. Or, I guess it's breakfast now... "

He watched her bend to pick up a padd and replace it on his desk. He was too exhausted to contemplate the deep sense of peace he felt, having her there with him. He conceded to her wishes, only noticing as he stripped out of it that his uniform smelled distinctly of smoldering electronics.

He let the hot water pulse over him, relieving sore muscles from the night's stress and battering. His left arm ached slightly, but only enough to remind him to be careful.

What now? He had her where he wanted her at this moment. No, he acknowledged, not one to lie to himself; He had her where he NEEDED her at this moment. Too weary for more amorous or adventurous desires, he wanted nothing more than to have her next to him, where he could hold her, sure of her safety.

Last night-the night before now-had been a tease. To hold her, protect her, cherish her... he had felt a satisfaction so deep he could barely name it. He wanted more, he had always wanted more, but he also had found how content he could be just assured of her presence.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried off and dressed in sleep pants and a t-shirt. He was too tired to shave.

She had decided they needed something more substantial than their habitual breakfast, and had replicated a quiche with vegetables, cheese and ham. She was just setting down the second plate when he came to the table.

The moment might have been awkward, but she deliberately chose to stay relaxed. She was not going to chicken out again. "It's a good thing we ate so well at our picnic." She observed.

"Indeed." He replied, waiting for her to sit before picking up his utensils. The silence between them while they ate was comfortable, both hungry enough that the meal occupied them. "How are your eyes feeling?" He inquired finally.

"Fine." She answered. "Good as new." She then chuckled at her own pun. "Did you see poor Data when I laughed at his pun?" She smiled, looked up.

The Captain laughed lightly. "He tries so hard to understand the nature of humor, then without even trying... " He broke off when he looked up at her, caught completely by the sparkle in her blue eyes.

The smile froze on Beverly's face as she looked at him. Had she ever noticed how green his eyes could get? He didn't break from her gaze. Something deep in her stomach seemed to flip-flop. Why had she denied this?

The silence stretched, both loathe to break the fragile moment. Eventually, he moved to clear the table. Wordlessly, she stood and brought her dish and cup to the recycler.

They turned to each other simultaneously. He hesitated. She stepped into him, placing her hands on his shoulders. His hands reached for her hips, pulling her against him. "I had a few bad moments there..." He muttered into her hair.

"I did too." She admitted.

Neither moved. "You were supposed to be in your quarters," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

"I know I broke orders..."

"Thank God." he interrupted, sincerely, his voice slightly breaking again.

"Jean-Luc..." she pulled back from him, looked into his face, saw the shimmer of tears in his eyes. Without fear, without thought of consequences, she tilted her head and brought her lips to his.

He met her, gently at first, so softly and cherishing she felt as if her heart might break with it. When she moved her hand to the back of his neck, fingers finding the fringe of hair at the back of his head, he raised his own hand to her hair, grasping it, then releasing to let it flow through his fingers, then finding her scalp and the back of her neck.

She opened her mouth slightly, with a moan, at the feeling of his hand. He took full advantage and entered her mouth with his tongue. Everything changed in that instant. The taste of him, the feel of him... she was swept away beyond anything she had imagined. It was just so right. Need coalesced deep in her belly.

His hand on her back slid lower, just to the top of her buttocks, bringing her even closer to him, until there was no space between them. She knew from dancing with him that they were a good fit. She never imagined what a perfect fit they were. Her free hand moved from his shoulder, desperate for contact, she found her way up under his t-shirt, coming to rest against his ribs. He reciprocated, his hand sliding up from her bottom, under her sweater. He groaned finding her back bare of any bra.

She felt the change in him instantly. His kiss went from coaxing to soothing. His hand on her back stilled its restless caress. She slowed her own frantic touches. He pulled back from their kiss, but kept her close with his arms. He leaned his forehead against hers. She caught her breath, eyes closed. She would die if he changed his mind now.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea..." He started. She opened her eyes, to see the crinkles of a smile in his. "But we've both had a very... trying... couple of days. When we make love, I do not want there to be any chance of regrets."

She started to pull away, he wouldn't let her. Nor would he let her misinterpret his intentions. "Let me just hold you right now, while we sleep." His lips found her temple, her hairline. Her heart melted and her soul caught fire. She should never underestimate this man.

With no more words, he pulled away from her. Letting his hand slide down her arm to grasp her hand, he led her to his bedroom. He rummaged in a drawer and handed her a long, v-necked shirt. She took it and retired to the bathroom. He was under the covers when she came back out, and he had second thoughts about waiting when he saw her in HIS shirt, vast expanses of leg uncovered, a hint of cleavage exposed. He lifted the blankets for her, and she slid in next to him.

Facing him, she once again let her fingers trace the lines of his face, reveling in the freedom to do so. His changeable eyes were gold-rimmed-green. His features were open to her, hiding nothing. She saw longing and relief and appreciation.

Unmistakeable love.

"How could I have been so wrong?" She whispered. He trapped her fingers against his lips, gently tasting them.

"You weren't wrong, you were just scared." There was no recrimination in his voice.

"I was scared of the wrong thing." A sad smile lifted her lips. He adjusted their positions, gathering her against him. She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand straying to rest on top of his shirt, just above his belly. He boldly lowered his hand to the back of her thigh, pulling her leg up, against his own. Perfectly fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle.

He rested his face against the top of her head.

Peace filled her. Peace like she had not known, perhaps ever. "I love you, you know." She whispered. Her fingers making idle circles against his chest. "I have, for a very long time."

"And I, you." His arms tightened around her, as if he were afraid she would leave now.

"I'm sorry..." she started. But he stopped her.

"No. No regrets." His lips again found her temple. "We've found each other now, that is what matters."

A tear slipped from her eye. How could a man so in control of his emotions be so gentle? So understanding of her own chaotic emotions? No, no regrets. She was exactly where she wanted to be. His steady breathing lulled her to sleep.

=^=  
>Captain Picard woke completely, as was his habit. He felt surprisingly well rested. He also felt-unsurprisingly, considering his position-aroused.<p>

They had shifted in sleep, onto their sides, her back to his front. He found the Doctor's backside pressed enticingly into his groin. Her head tucked beneath his chin. In sleep, his hand had found a resting place under her shirt, on her breast.

He had two choices: he could pull away, and wake her, or he could wake her, and not pull away.

For long moments he just lay, basking in the delicate torture of the scent of her, the feel of her against him. He had waited a lifetime, it seemed, for this. He had almost lost the chance of it more than once. No more. No regrets.

Finding a patch of bare neck where her hair parted in the back, he let his lips discover her skin. He knew she was awake when he felt her unmistakeable push into the intimate grasp of his hand on her chest.

"Mmmm" She purred. "Good morning?"

"Indeed." he murmured into the space behind her ear, causing a shiver to start at that spot, but continue deliciously down her spine.

Nothing had prepared her for waking in his arms, in his bed. His scent surrounded her, his strength encompassed her.

Languorously, she stretched, deliberately pushing against him. Delighting in her power over him. When he lifted his lips from their task, she turned, to face him.

"We are not tired any more." She said, quite seriously.

"No, we are not." He replied.

"The ship is in capable hands?" She asked.

"It is."

"You are not due on the bridge until tomorrow morning?" Her eyes were impossibly dark cobalt.

"I am not." His face was still an open book to her. She saw hope light his features, tempered with caution. Oh, how she had hurt him. She closed the space between them, and touched her lips to his.

"Then, my Captain, I think there is nothing to regret..." Another soft kiss, her hands sliding up under his t-shirt, her knee insinuating itself between his legs. "Unless..."

He held his breath-to come so far-he would die if she ended this now. He would honor her choice, but he would die...

"Unless," She repeated, "we don't learn from past regrets." She nipped lightly at his lower lip, her hands becoming quite busy.

For once, Fate shone upon them. With internal communications still down, there were no questions to interrupt the Captain. The Doctor was still off duty another day, there was no crisis demanding her presence. No virus mutated that day, no storm gathered. The Enterprise continued limping toward a starbase for repairs.

The powers of the Universe had finally done their duty and brought these two together. For a few hours, the only turbulence was behind the closed doors of the Captain's cabin.


End file.
